


A wizard’s record of the unfaethable

by ninjakins



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Dimension 20: Fantasy High
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, Diary/Journal, F/F, Fantasy High Sophomore Year Spoilers (Dimension 20), Fluff, Magic, New Relationship, Post S2, Post spring break, Rock and Roll, Souls, Spells & Enchantments, Wizards, ayda’s notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjakins/pseuds/ninjakins
Summary: Ayda keeps thorough notes on her life for the benefit of her future incarnations, but one entry repeatedly stymies her.There are no words to fully describe Fig.
Relationships: Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A wizard’s record of the unfaethable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> (Written for Yuletide 2020! Hope you enjoy!)

Ayda had a perfect memory, at least while she was herself. She could remember the most minute detail from a book she’d read three years ago. She could recite, verbatim, the argument Fig had with Fabian over dance techniques. She could remember everything Fig said, really, a fact that she cherished on the long nights they were apart--Fig on tour, Ayda caught up in some important Library Business. 

She could not, however, remember the previous Aydas she had been. She could only assume it had been Herself the 2nd that had come up with the idea of recording important notes to her future selves. Documentation; documentation was always important. So every subsequent iteration of herself—iteration used, here, though her ability to revise on previous versions was limited—had left copious notes for her predecessor, barring the single iteration that had opted to destroy the notes, Ayda had been consistent in her documentation.

None of them had ever written about a paramour. 

Oh, it was statistically likely that previous Aydas had acquired partners for necessary acts of carnality. None, however, had warranted documentation to pass along awareness to future iterations. None had, of course, been Figueroth.

Ayda, being a thorough person, had run the calculations. There was no possible future outcome where she would not desire to remember Fig. There was no conceivable future timeline in which the knowledge of Fig’s existence was  _ not _ of the highest necessity. 

(Ayda had, for the sake of scholarly ethics, contemplated a single timeline where Figueroth betrayed her in a way that caused a new iteration--surely under unwilling possession or dark magic, of course--but even in that improbable eventuality, she would still want to remember the goodness of Fig.)

(Ayda had refused to consider any future timeline where Fig expired before her.)

So documentation was necessary. But Ayda found herself in a quandary. One of the numerous qualities she found attractive in her paramour was Fig’s innate contrary nature, her inability to be catalogued and categorized. It was this precise trait that flummoxed Ayda’s attempts at documentation. Her papers were littered with her failed efforts.

_ Figueroth Faeth, a tiefling of your acquaintance, is an exceptional paramour. She is generous and dazzling… _

No, start at the beginning.

_ You met Figueroth Faeth at the Crosswinds Library of Leviathan, when she and her companions… _

No, that may take too long even for Ayda.

_ Figueroth Faeth is the most exceptional creature you have ever known. _

_ Figueroth Faeth... _

This would take some thought.

###

_ Figueroth Faeth is the lead singer of “Fig and the Cig Figs”, an experimental musical band which enjoys intense popularity through out Solace. Fig must travel regularly on tours and ‘gigs’, and your duties to the Library do not always permit you to accompany her. And though you have sworn to forsake all obligations should Fig wish it, she has thus far declined. These absences are...inconvenient. _

“I can’t find my favorite guitar pick,” Fig complained, draping herself across Ayda’s lap like some especially dramatic cat. Ayda looked down from her book. Fig’s tan cheeks were only slight embers of pink, as they’d become haltingly more comfortable with each other since Ayda had moved in. Ayda, for her part, tried to keep her folded wings from flaring to light at the way Fig’s head flopped against her arm. Ayda tried to focus on her words.

“Your guitar pick? Did someone steal it?” Ayda felt her eyes light a little in alarm. “Do you require me to enact vengeance with you?”

“No, no--” Fig never laughed at her, but her smile softened at the edges in difficult to categorize ways. Ayda loved to study Fig’s mouth. Fig reached out and smoothed some of the ruffled feathers on Ayda’s arm. “I  _ lost _ it. I probably just misplaced it. Have you seen it?”

“I have not.” Ayda was mildly distracted by the intricate patterns Fig’s fingers were tracing through her feathers, the soft curve of her stubby nails lightly finding the sensitive skin underneath. It made her shiver and fluff. “I can write you a spell to conjure it. Or maybe claws,” Ayda amended, thinking of the soft nails doing  _ ridiculous  _ things to her brain right now. “Increased durability would eliminate the need for guitar pick location.”

“Ohhhh…” Figs eyes lit up. “Claws would be frickin’  _ sick _ !”

Sick, used here, meaning a positive experience which Figuroth approved of. Not disease. That had been one of the first phrases Ayda had used with the spell Adaine had gifted her,  _ Comprehend Subtext _ , on. The spell was, indeed,  _ sick. _

“But no, thanks,” Fig was continuing on. “I would have to learn to pick all over again. Besides, I like hands. Look at these gnarly callouses I’m working on!”

Fig withdrew her hands from Ayda’s feathers and held them out for appraisal. Small raised bumps of scar tissue fretted lines on Fig’s forefingers and thumbs. Signs of injury continued to alarm Ayda, but Fig seemed proud of them. 

“Fascinating, most fascinating,” Ayda said after a moment’s measure. “In that case, I will assist in looking for them.”

“Cool,” Fig said before her brows scrunched with a subsequent thought. “Then I’ll be all packed up for tour.”

Ayda’s flames dimmed. “You leave tomorrow, yes?”

Fig nodded, fingers absently drifting to trace down the planes of Ayda’s face and shyly cup her chin. “I can find something tomorrow,” she said, arresting Ayda’s efforts to put aside her book and rise to her feet.

Ayda hesitated and sank back into the chair. Fig snuggled in further, somehow becoming even heavier and warmer. Maybe it was a spell. Ayda always felt half enchanted around Fig. “But the guitar pick…?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be ready to leave,” Fig said, jutting out her chin even as her voice softened. “Not yet.” 

Her fingers slipped down the curve of Ayda’s neck, and thoughts of guitars and spells fled Ayda’s concerns.

_ Figueroth Faeth has the most soft, nimble hands. _

##

_ Figueroth Faeth is a gifted magic user. Wielding both her musical and hellborn gifts with a skilled technique I’ve yet to see documented. _

“What would you do with a buncha souls?” Fig asked Adaine around an impressively full mouth of ice cream. Basar’s flavor of the day was mint chocolate chip, a flavor that Ayda found too  _ green  _ but fascinating in its own way. The group was clustered at their favored corner booth at the back of the ice cream parlor.

“That would depend on how I ...acquired them,” Adaine said with a slow, suspicious blink. She had tidily finished her bowl (flavor: basil and raspberry) and was dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

Ayda tried a lick of her ice cream again. Being a (half) phoenix, the treat melted too fast in her hands so Fig had enlisted Gorgug to whip up a rather ingenious chilled bowl for her. The treat still melted instantly on her tongue, somewhat falling short of the creamy texture that Fig described, but the variety of flavors that Basar could apply to sweetened milk was still a fascinating experience. 

Besides, Ayda was really here for the company.

Since being inducted as an honorary ‘Bad Kid’, Ayda had worked hard at overcoming her natural tendency to recoil at noise and chaos, which followed her chosen people like a shadow. Growing up among pirates had prepared her for a certain level of raucous merriment, but she still occasionally had the urge to flee, as she had the night of the party in Arborly.

The night she’d admitted her emotional findings to Fig. 

(Ayda still kept the signed contract folded in the back of her spell book.)

“Mostly legitimate,” Fig assured before her brows bunched up in thought. “Souls count as spoils for adventurers, right?”

Adaine’s eyes widened a little, though her tone of voice didn’t change. “You’re speaking of your capture souls spell. And...the ones we defeated, the devils and pirates and elves and…” Adaine made a stricken noise. “You’ve been holding on to those all this time?”

“To the victors go the spoils. Obviously,” Fabian cut in, lazily dancing his spoon through the air like a sword. “Well  _ done _ , Fig.”

“That’s capturing a soul in a gem!” Adaine reminded him with a frown sharp enough to cut his spoon-parry short. “And it’s been  _ months _ since spring break!”

“A whole rotten lot anyway. They deserve their fate,” Fabian said in his loftiest tones before a glint hit his eye that Ayda could only identify as  _ piratey _ . She had enough experience with the look. “They did try to  _ kill  _ us, Adaine.”

“You don’t have to remind  _ me _ ,” Adaine said in withering tones. Fabian had the grace to look abashed and stuck another spoonful of his ice cream (flavor: peach gelato) in his mouth. 

“I was trying to think of something good to do with them,” Fig said, voice guttering to that stubborn note that she used when she was most distraught. Her fingers found Ayda’s under neath the table and squeezed. Ayda squeezed them back on reflex, though she felt she was missing whatever emotional quandary was occuring. Souls were a simple alchemical ingredient; she could have suggested an array of uses to Fig, herself. She wasn’t sure what the fuss was about, but Fig had explained it was rude to cast  _ Comprehend Subtext _ in front of the subject. Besides, she didn’t want to let go of Fig’s hand.

“I’m not hurting them,” Fig said, in a softer tone that made Ayda’s eyes flare looking for the cause of distress. 

Adaine, clever Adaine, seemed to understand first. She softened as she turned her gaze back to Fig and considered. “There’s some spells that use souls as components--maybe a ward for the house? I can make you a list.”

“I can help too,” Ayda said cautiously, feeling back on solid ground once discussion turned from emotions to arcane craft work. 

“That’d be great,” Fig said, beaming a smile brighter than any fire a phoenix could produce. She turned it on Ayda as well. “I’d love that.”

_ Figeuroth Faeyth is a powerful spellcaster with possible enchantress powers. Perhaps inquire for Siren ancestry? _

Ayda had waited, but Fig never asked for help. She got spell advice from Adaine and Ayda, but then disappeared into a particularly busy band schedule. The next Ayda heard of it was weeks later. The door creaked open at three a.m. Fig had been caught up in a recording session and told Ayda not to wait up; Ayda had long ago learned (thank you, Comprehend Context) that this was one of those things that paramours said to each other but didn’t quite mean. Besides, there was a new treatise on dimensional discordance to read. 

Fig’s exhausted face brightened as she spotted Ayda on the couch with a book in hand. She quickly shucked off her coat and divested herself of her guitar and other band gear to pile haphazardly in the corner where it would surely trip Jawbone in the morning. She flopped down on the couch next to her. “You didn’t have to wait up,” she protested, already worming under Ayda’s arm. 

“Correct, I was not coerced,” Ayda said absently as she marked the place in her reading and set it aside. “Your musical practicum was productive?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Practice went fine.” Fig’s voice was already fogged over with sleep. She burrowed further under Ayda’s arm and feathers. She was so warm; Ayda, as a phoenix, was not used to being warmed by another living being. But Fig seemed to run on an internal fire that was different but so compatible with her own.

Fig was already lightly snoring, so Ayda didn’t press farther. She shifted so her arm was a better pillow for Fig’s head, and was just contemplating whether it was worth a use of Mage Hand to summon her book back to her when Fig murmured, “The souls are gone, now.”

Ayda’s mind was efficient at cross-indexing that to the earlier ice cream-fueled conversation. “Oh.” She did a quick arcane inventory of the house and frowned. “Incorrect. There have been no discernible changes to the house wards.”

Fig kept her eyes closed, as if it was easier to answer while feigning sleep. “Not a ward,” she yawned, squinching up her nose. “Good idea, though.”

“What spell did you go with, then?” Ayda was already running through the list she and Adaine had compiled. It was not logical to feel hurt at the idea that Fig and Adaine had completed a complicated cast without her. No, entirely illogical. She felt...confused, that was it. 

“No spell.” Fig’s head became heavier on her shoulder as she cracked her eyes open. They reflected the living room’s lit fireplace with two distant, flickering flames. “It didn’t feel right. I got Kristen to help me instead.”

Ayda could think of no clerical spell that required a soul as an arcane ingredient. Indeed, it was usually the kind of thing divine beings frowned upon, no matter how orthodox. She was fully ready to believe, however, that her brilliant girlfriend and talented cleric friend had found a way to do just that, until Fig tilted her head up to meet Ayda’s eyes.

“I put them to rest.” Fig’s voice had that stubborn-shy tone to it. At some point in their budding relationship, they’d managed to stop skateboarding away from each other, but vulnerable admissions were still delicate novelties. Fig’s lips screwed up on and she said it again. “Kristin helped me put them to rest. I couldn’t just let ‘em go, Fabian was right about that. But…” Fig trailed off, voice pitched low. “It didn’t feel right, using a soul as a reagent. Even assholes like demons. I asked Kristin and Tracker for help and she figured out a ritual that sent them on...wherever—“ Fig added a vague unconcerned flutter of her hand here, “—without letting them do any harm.”

“Fascinating,” Ayda said blankly, because it was. It  _ was _ . Her mind was already spinning out the potentials and further arcane applications to the idea. Kristin would likely find herself cornered by a very enthusiastic librarian over breakfast tomorrow morning.

“Was it the right thing?” Fig’s sleep fogged voice was suddenly strained, and she blinked up at Ayda with an uncertain solemnity. 

Ayda respected Fig enough to not answer immediately. She turned the question over in her head. Ethics was a large field and one that Ayda, given her difficulty grasping intuitive social norms, had to study as rigorously as any other academic topic. Using the souls for her own good would have been the practical choice. Destroying them, vengeful. There was no real consensus on the sanctity of souls captured during honorable combat between adventurers, but Fig cared about everything, even when others didn’t, even when she pretended she didn’t. It was one of the wonders of Fig.

“It was a choice that rebels against wizard practice, that is for certain. It’s an unorthodox and irrational choice that goes against several centuries of wizardly best practices,” Ayda answered slowly. She carefully stroked Fig’s cheek with her free hand, still reveling in the ability to do it. The answer was simple, then. “That makes it the absolutely right thing for you.”

The tension burned off Fig’s face with her slow smile. She turned her head, sleepily kissing the tips of Ayda’s fingers—regardless of the fact they were slightly on fire—and tucked her head back against Ayda’s feathered shoulder. Her breathing slipped slow and deep. Fig was so bursting with life, always moving, always plotting and striving and accomplishing the stunning miracle of being herself, it was rare to see the tension ease out of her into a beautiful stillness. The embers of Ayda’s heart banked and flickered as the woman she loved relaxed completely under her wing. 

_ Figueroth Faeth is yours. The rest is your joy to discover. _


End file.
